


Little Red Ridinghood

by Schattenfeuer



Category: Nightmare Harem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Other, Reader-Insert, Unhealthy Relationships, genderneutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25751653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenfeuer/pseuds/Schattenfeuer
Summary: Run, little red ridinghood, for the big, bad wolf is snapping at your heels.
Relationships: Oswald/Reader
Kudos: 3





	Little Red Ridinghood

Your lungs burnt in the save embrace of your chest, throbbed as if the air you were gulping down in greedy deep breaths was toxic, but you could not stop, leaving footprints tinted in red behind with each shaky step. For stopping, even for the shortest amount of time, meant to surrender and to accept defeat, to accept your fate as a caged little bird with neatly trimmed wings, never to soar in the vast sky again. 

It mattered little that you did not knew your way around this world, part of you hoped, prayed, begged for whatever monsters lurked in the darkness, in the inky shadows beneath the trees and the bramble of the forest, would come out and eat you whole. Sharp fangs digging into your flesh could not be too different than the cold kiss of a familiar blade, pressed over and over and over again onto every patch of skin available. 

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but his deeds were coming close to a third thing, you knew that you could never win in a fight, his hand was large enough to hold both of your wrists with ease, his frame bulky and heavy enough to crush any attempt at resistance before it could become more than the faintest spark of a thought. So you had resorted to cunning, hoping, daring, that your feigned submission was enough to fool him. 

You barely felt the coldness of the night as it stung your flushed, sweaty skin, the pain of your bare feet registered as a dull throbbing in the back of your mind, all you could actively think about was to run, run, RUN! Adrenaline kicking in and overpowering any coherent thought, you snapped and clawed at every shadow that even remotely looked like a clawed hand grasping for you, blades of grass against your bare calves became the tickle of the knife’s tip, your own thundering heart mocked you into a frenzy of panic, sounded like heavy footsteps right behind you. 

A fool, that was what you had been, an idealistic fool, moonstruck by the man’s gentle facade. And even when the monster, the big bad wolf, had come out with snapping jaws and bared fangs, you had still reached out to pet its coarse fur. Why were you surprised that this beast in shape of a man turned around and bit your hand?

This was not the red moon’s fault after all, all of it summed up, higher and higher as evidence against your own naivete, like a sheep for slaughter had you willingly, blindly followed your shepherd's guide, straight onto the slaughter bank. You even had the nerve to scream with wheezing and frothing breaths when the slaughter had started. By now, you wondered if he had returned into his little hut, only to find the bars of your cage bent and broken. You had gnawed on them, like a feral little rodent, chipped your teeth and bit your lips until the metal was stained crimson from dried blood and rust, all in order to get out, to get away.

“I can smell your blood, little mouse!”, you screamed in pure terror, or you would have, had you any breath left inside your burning, exhausted body. You were freezing in your tattered nightgown, underneath the soiled fabric you could feel the bony ridges of your ribcage dig deep into the palm of your hands, when was the last time you had felt proper appetite for any of the bland meals he fed you with? Crumbs and scraps were everything you got, not because he wanted to torment you, though he enjoyed the fragile look you gained when blood dropped from your countless cuts, followed the jigsaw puzzle lines of your skeleton in thick, heavy drops, but because this was all he could steal away at the evening dinners with the whole, damn family. “You’re a smart one, but playtime’s over”

Baring your teeth in blind panic, you dashed forward, ignoring the uncomfortable closeness of his voice. Even now, Oswald somehow managed to lure you in with this deep, gentle voice. That made all the new stuff he said all the more sickening, because you hung to his lips, you wanted to hear more of his dubious praise, of his twisted adoration. Had your mind been clearer, you would have run into the estate nearby instead of rushing headlessly into the forest, maybe then all this would have been over. 

The thought of Oswald bound in heavy chains came to the front of your inner eye, as much as he scared you, it still hurt to think of him like that. He would thrash and rage, fight until his body had nothing left to give and the reaper could finally settle back to sleep. Only that this time, he would emerge again the moment consciousness returned to the man. 

This is my fault, a voice in your mind whispered. You could see the owner of this voice, curled up with twig thin legs pressed against a hunger flattened chest, gaunt cheeks and sunken in eyes dominating an ashen face that still looked eerily like you. Because it was you, this starving, shattered piece of your imagination was your compassion, your love, while the cage holding it in place was your guilt, its weight pressing in on you from all sides. 

Tree roots made you stumble, holes in the ground caused you to fall face first into dust and dirt and the coolness of the trampled ground was bliss against your heated skin, right up to the point that even thinking about moving again became raw and pure agony. A sob racked your bony frame, your fingers curled into the soft ground below you and you pulled, determined to somehow, no matter what, get back up again. 

“Found you.”, a heavy boot pressed down on your curved back, caused you to harshly exhale as the ground once more came up to embrace you to its fullest. He was out of breath, panting just as hard as you, though through the echo of your beating, frightened heart you sensed something more than just anger radiating off him. It didn’t stop him from nudging you to your side with his foot. It certainly didn’t stop him from straddling your body and trapping your hands over your head, hard enough for the small bones in your wrists to grind painfully against each other. “What were you thinking, little mouse?”

The pressure only kept going up and up, you averted your eyes and groaned, there was no way out, no moving and certainly no reasoning when he was like this. Maddened eyes of unhinged red stared at you, you were drowning in the intensity of those eyes, singed by the fire that had burnt away any trace of the man you had fallen in love with. 

“Oswald...please don’t…”, cursing your disobedient mouth, you whimpered and your gaze fell onto the large knife, always there, always a presence at the belt around your hip. How much more could you take, you wondered. How much blood did you had left to give? Did he knew no mercy? “Don’t you love me?”

“Ooh, but I do, I love you so much, dear”, your eyes rolled back into your skull and your toes curled against the soles of your feet, whenever he used this voice you couldn’t help but fall for it, even if it was a blatant lie, you had only the snippets of your memory left and the stitching of your own ideals was the last thing keeping your slowly unravelling mindset together. “I love you so much, every time you bleed I feel so happy.”

Cruelly using your own words, your own wish against you, his name became a broken whimper squashed by the roughness with which he pressed his lips onto yours, sharp fangs caught the bruised and scarred tissue of your lips and copper overpowered every other taste in your mouth. Copper mixed with salt as useless tears started to run, to drop from your eyelashes like little jewels as you prayed for an end of all, right here, on the forest’s floor where the coldness of night slowly seeped into your spine and legs. 

Blood covered his fangs, painted the bow of his lips when he finally drew back. He stilled in his looming over you, still like the statue of a vengeful god, covering you entirely in his shadow. It was almost merciful, almost. But nothing could drown out the sound of the blade unsheathed, the glimmer of polished steel sharp and unforgiving to your tearstained eyes. Had you been still from fear before, now your body became limp from terror. Like a ragdoll, you could only watch with silent horror a the blade descended, like a painter he used this unusual paint brush of steel to turn the canvas of your shape into a piece of grotesque art. 

Pain flared up, spread over your skin like an unpleasant rash but it only ever went skin deep, just like his love for you.


End file.
